Unseen Connections
by Diary
Summary: Pre-HBP, Luna opens an account with the help of a goblin friend of the Longbottom's. Complete. Edited slightly.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Notes: Bornuk's an original character of mine who's been in several of my other fics.

…

"Thank you," Bornuk says, depositing a knut in the pouch and offering the owl a lemon sherbet.

After she's accepted and flown off, he opens the package, smiling slightly at the picture inside. Neville's growing into quite the young wizard, he realises with pride as he watches the teenager wave his new wand, a rainbow of colours briefly appearing.

Carefully, he taps the picture, sending it straight to his vault. He'd like to put it and several others on his desk, but that isn't appropriate. He'll have to make do with keeping them at home.

Sighing, he leaves his office and goes up to his podium, immediately spotting a strange looking child entering as he does so. She's around Neville's age, perhaps a bit younger, and shares the boy's skin colour, though a paler shade of it. Her long, higgledy-piggledy hair is almost white, and even from the distance he can make out the larger than normal shape of her eyes. Rather than robes she's wearing an overlarge white, medium-sleeved shirt with splotches of paint on it and thin, black trousers, too thick to be tights, and worryingly, no shoes or socks.

Seeing one of the guards is approaching her, he quickly leaves his podium and goes over. "Hello, Miss," he greets. "My name is Bornuk. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh, hello," she greets, her voice far-off. "Are you a teller? I was wondering about opening an account, you see."

"Yes, Miss," he answers. "If you'll come to my office, I believe we can discuss it."

"Thank you," she says, giving him a vague smile. Offering her hand, she continues, "My name is Luna Lovegood, though many people call me Loony. I don't mind, but my friends think I should."

_There's this mad girl who's in Harry's club with me, but I'm always careful to never call her Loony. She's alright, I reckon, once you get used to her and her dad's magazine. _

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lovegood," he says, shaking it. "This way, please."

She semi-skips alongside him.

"Please, have a seat," he tells her, watching her eyes skim the office. He has it specifically decorated to make young children and anxiety-ridden older people at-ease. "Would you care for some tea or pumpkin juice?"

"Some pumpkin juice would be lovely, thank you."

"Has anyone come with you, Miss Lovegood," he inquires as he pours the goblet for her. "Children are only allowed to open an account of their own with guardian consent or a special order from the ministry."

"Is that a ministry mandate or a majority decision of the goblin shareholders," she inquires, curiously.

Surprised, he answers, "Interestingly, it's both. I'm sure you're aware the goblin employees rarely pay much attention to what the ministry says about the running of Gringotts, but in some instances, the shareholders do find themselves agreeing with the ministry on certain things. 30 years ago, the shareholders met with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and several of its senior officers, and six out of the ten shareholders agreed that there should be limits in regards to children under the age of seventeen. In the rare cases, we will accept a ministry order in place of guardian consent."

"That's very interesting," she tells him, and despite her airy voice, she seems sincere. "I have a note from my father," she continues, withdrawing her wand from behind her ear. Waving it, a paper appears.

As she hands it to him, she tells him, "He has an account here, but now that I've gotten my first job, he thinks I ought to open my own."

"Ah," he says, reading the note. "The Quibbler; a friend of mine sent me a copy of the interview Harry Potter gave."

"Well," he continues, looking up, "I'll have to have this validated, but it looks as if everything is in order."

She nods.

Raking his nail across it, he asks, "If you don't mind me asking, what's your job?"

"Mr Ollivander's hired me," she answers. "I mostly do administrative duties, but he's teaching me a bit about wandlore, as well. I plan to write an article. Already, I have several theories about the link between nargle misbehaviour and the motivation rather than intent behind nonverbal spells."

"Ah, you believe there's a difference between motivation and intent? That's an unusual belief for one so young."

"Most of my beliefs seem to fall under that," she answers. "Of course, there is. Just because someone intends to do something doesn't mean a motivation is driving them to do it. Sometimes, the two can be greatly at odds."

"That's very true," he agrees. "There's no charge to open an account, which means a vault will automatically be assigned to you. Opening an account automatically gives you the right to sign authorising stores and others to have gold transferred from your vault to theirs. There are consequences if you authorise a transfer of money you don't have, however. Being a client means we'll help you should you want to give or take a loan, though there are consequences for doing bad business. All vaults automatically have agreed on protections, but you may pay to upgrade the protections if you wish. All clients must sign a contract in blood; it is magically binding," he warns, withdrawing the contract from his desk and writing on it.

"You don't need to sign it here," he adds, pushing it across the desk. "You're free to leave with it and have whomever you wish go over it you. It's strongly recommended that you thoroughly understand what you're signing before doing so."

"Would you mind going over it with me, sir?"

Smiling, he shakes his head. "Of course not, sweet one," he answers, directing his chair to go to her side of the desk.

…

After they've gone over the contract, she says, "I'd like to sign."

Nodding, he withdraws a quill. "Don't be afraid, dear," he tells her, noticing her left hand involuntarily flexing. "I know about Madam Umbrige's illegal use of blood quills on Hogwarts students. This doesn't work like that. You're likely going to feel lightheaded for a few minutes, but there will be no pain, I promise. This quill doesn't cut to extract blood, and it's specifically designed to remove the blood from areas of the body that are minimally affected by the loss and that quickly replenish the supply."

Once she signs, he refills her goblet and retrieves a package of sugar crystals from his pocket. "Here," he says, opening the package for her. "Eat this and drink your pumpkin juice."

"Now," he says, looking at her bare feet, "do you have any shoes with you, Miss Lovegood?"

"No, but that's okay," she tells him. "My classmates often hide mine. I can do cleaning spells on the ground and healing spells on my feet."

"I assume you know how to ride a broom? If I get one, would you ride that? I don't like the idea of your feet being hurt."

"That would be kind of you, but there's no need. I quite like being barefoot."

He feels a pang of pity as he goes back around to his desk to write in his the book connected to the vaults, making a withdraw from vault 318. The Comet 260 appears on his desk, and as always, he a rush of emotion overwhelms him when he sees it.

"Here you go, Miss Lovegood," he says, climbing out of his chair.

She gets out of hers and steadies the broom midair before carefully climbing on. "Oh," she says, softly. "This broom has a warm history; I feel very safe."

"That's good," he answers, sadly, taking a hold of her offered hand.

Together they go to the carts, her riding a few feet above ground, her legs against the broom, him holding her right hand as he walks beside it. "Hands, arms, and feet firmly in at all times," he warns once they arrive.

…

Once they get to the vault, he hands her a key, "Once you unlock it, it'll make an imprint of your magic. If your key is ever lost or you desperately need to enter but have forgotten it, your wand can be used as authorisation."

"What if I have a different wand?"

"As long as the wand belongs to you, it'll still work. The vault recognises your magic rather than the instrument which helps you channel it."

"Then, why doesn't Gringotts use an identification system based on that?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," he answers. If he had his way, they would, but politics are naturally involved. The ministry wants one thing, the shareholders want another, and everyone else must deal with it as best they can.

She unlocks the door, and they both step inside. She waves her wand, and several items appear. He looks away as she arranges them, but she says, "I don't mind if you look."

Curiosity getting the better of him, he does. A picture of a dancing witch with crimped, brown hair, one of a long-haired white-haired man with silver eyes typing on a typewriter, one of the three of them together, the father sitting on a couch as he watches the woman dancing with their young daughter in her arms.

Then, his eyes land on a picture containing Neville. "That's Neville Longbottom," she tells him. "And that's Ginny Weasley and Dennis Creevey. His brother, Colin, took the picture."

"Ah," he says, watching as Neville tries to fend off a tickle-attack from the ginger witch. The younger boy is happily eating an acid pop, and Luna is standing apart, watching the three with a fond expression.

She shows him several issues of The Quibbler. "These all have special significance to me."

Finally, she takes a charm bracelet off her wrist and lays it on one of the issues. "That's all for, now. Thank you very much, Teller Bornuk."

"My pleasure, Miss Lovegood."

…

At the end of the day, he retrieves the picture from his vault, locks his office, and leaves, summoning the Knight Bus. Giving the address to the new driver, wishing Stan was still around, he hands over the correct amount.

Augusta opens the door on the first ring. A frown crosses her face. "Bad news?"

"No," he assures her, coming in as she steps aside. "I'm here to inform you I briefly withdrew Frank's broom; I had an underage client who I didn't want walking around underground."

He dodges her attempt to smack him.

"I told you when I first gave you authorisation, I don't give a damn what you do to the contents of the vaults," Augusta says, closing the door. "I may not trust you not to respect and not unjustly imprison me, but I do trust you to always respect our stuff and treat it properly."

"You being locked in was your own fault," he retorts. "If you had listened to me-"

"I know you did it on purpose, and as soon as goblins are allowed to own wands, I'll have no qualms with hexing you blind."

"You don't have any such qualms now. You merely have had the misfortune of being stopped each time you've attempted it."

"You're staying for supper," she informs him, ignoring that accurate statement. "Neville, dear, we have a visitor!"

Soon, Neville comes bounding through, knocking over a vase as he does so. Wincing, he says, "Sorry, Gran," as the vase repairs itself and floats back up. "Hullo, Teller Bornuk," he says, his mother's grin appearing on his face as he reaches out to shake Bornuk's hand. "Are you here for supper?"

"I've been told so by your domineering grandmother, lad," he answers, patting the boy's hand before breaking the handshake. "It's a shame the milklady who had your father has never reappeared to take custody."

Neville rolls his eyes but says, sincerely, "It's nice to have you, sir. My tiger lilies are almost ready to be transported."

"Oh," Bornuk says as they go to the dining room and sit down at the table. "Why are you transporting them?"

"Luna, one of the people in D.A. with me, she's back from vacation, and she's gotten a part-time job at Ollivander's. We've been owling some lately, and she said she was going to open an account at Gringotts. I reckoned, well, that's kind of a big thing, isn't it? So, I'd send her some flowers when she did. I thought about sending her a dancing sunflower, but she said that she didn't much care for dancing."

"As much as I don't like what he and the others did," Augusta says, glaring at her grandson as she cuts his meat, "I'm glad he's made some friends. Hopefully, this year will be a good one for him. Do you want some milk or some coffee," she asks Bornuk.

"Just some milk, please," he answers. "Easier to detect poison in it."

"I'm so glad I can't even escape stupid bickering at home," Neville mutters under his breath.

"What did you say, young man?"

"Nothing, Gran," Neville says, quickly taking a bite of his food.

"I know you said-"

"Tell me about your new wand, lad," Bornuk interrupts, holding onto the table as Augusta kicks his chair.

"It's awesome," Neville says, excitedly, almost knocking over his goblet.

Bornuk smiles as he eats his food and listens to Augusta and Neville talk about their day.


End file.
